The Living Dead
by CzechChicka
Summary: Hello, this is J.K. Rowling, and I would like to give you part of the 6th book...NOT! Ahem...don't let the title scare you, it has nothing to do with necromancy or anything. Full summary inside. Rating for future romance. CH. 2RR! ON HOLD!
1. Prologue

The Living Dead  
  
Summary: Harry Potter has finally defeated Voldemort, but at a terrible price. Both he and his arch-enemy died at the final battle.or so the wizarding world thought. Seventeen years later, Harry mysteriously comes back to life, along with the Dark Lord. Something's wrong with Ron, who has become the Minister of Magic, threatened to close Hogwarts, and even suggested siding with Voldemort. Harry discovers that there was more to the prophecy than Dumbledore told him. And above all, there is a mysterious hooded professor teaching Defense class, who has lasted longer than all the rest.  
  
Disclaimer: Muahahahahaha! My evil, cunning, and college educated plan to dupe the world into thinking that I am the author of HP is nearly complete! But, sadly, I still have a few bugs to work out.  
  
Prologue  
  
Somewhere, in the depths of the Department of Mysteries...  
  
"Well, well, well, so nice to see you, Harry Potter!" taunted the most feared dark wizard of all time.  
  
Lord Voldemort.  
  
"Voldemort," returned Harry, hating Voldemort for all he was worth. He struggled against his bindings fruitlessly before turning back to glare at his enemy.  
  
"M-master," stuttered a bowing Death Eater. Voldemort turned to glare at him.  
  
"What is it, you filthy little worm?" he hissed between gritted teeth, daring someone else to interrupt his taunting of his favorite enemy.  
  
"M-my Lord, the O-order is on its w-way." Wormtail bowed again and stumbled away.  
  
"Excellent," remarked Voldemort. Then, turning back to Harry, he said, "Now, why don't you be a good little boy and show me how to open the door." He indicated to the locked door to their left, the one that held Harry's power.  
  
"Over my dead body," snarled Harry. Voldemort lowered his head so close to Harry's that Harry could feel his warm, stinking breath on his face.  
  
"I'll ask you nicely once more," whispered Voldemort, "Open the door."  
  
Harry's head felt like it had split wide open. There was a pain in his scar...a pain like one he had never felt before. It was as if it was trying to warn him of something. Open the door or it will happen. It will happen, happen, happen....  
  
"Never!" Harry exclaimed. To his surprise, Voldemort laughed his high, cruel laugh.  
  
"You have no idea how very much like your father you are. Equal in pride and stupidity," he taunted, "Maybe this will teach you a lesson...Crucio!"  
  
The pain that had moments before been confined to his head had now spread to engulf his entire body. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep from screaming out in pain. The pain went on and on, like it would never stop. Just as Harry felt that he was going to go mad, it halted.  
  
He looked up at Voldemort, who was standing rigid, never batting an eyelash, his wide eyes staring straight ahead. Harry felt the bonds around him loosen, and he too stood up (against his will) and stared straight at Voldemort. Half of Harry wanted to bolt out of the room screaming, but the other half kept saying: Stay still. Focus on the door. Focus on Voldemort. Hate Voldemort and focus...  
  
Suddenly, though Harry couldn't turn his head to see it, the locked door sprang open, and they were swallowed by a whirling silver vortex. Both he and Voldemort were swept off their feet and brought level to each other tens of feet above the floor. It seemed like forever that they stayed up there, staring at each other, unable to move even if they wanted to. There was a brilliant flash of golden light, and both of the wizard's lifeless bodies fell to the floor.  
  
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Thanks all in advance for reading my fic! Now, then, there is one thing I require all visitors to this fic to complete. See that little box that says "submit review" at the bottom. That means that you're supposed to push the "go" button and type a reaction!!! Failure to do so will result in 1) 10 lashings with a wet noodle, 2) the subject being hung by their greasy eyeballs, and 3) no more future chapters!!! (Sorry, but the most reviews I've ever gotten was 2, and that's sad.) LOL, j/k. Seriously, though, please review. Flames welcome!!! I'll try to update as often as possible, but I am kind of busy. Thanks again!  
  
~*~Ze Czech~*~ 


	2. The Morgue on Valley Hill

The Living Dead  
  
Disclaimer: Yes! My plan is in action again!!! There is little time left until HP is mine!!! Muahahahahaha!!  
  
Chapter 1: The Morgue on Valley Hill  
  
For a long time, Harry spent the long, monotonous hours in a black void, with nothing to do or think. Seconds were minutes, minutes were hours, hours were days, and days were years. There was no way to tell time, much less how long he had been there. And all that time he had no sense of self-at least not the kind we have. He had no arms, legs, torso, or head. He was like a shadow, alone and hopeless, drifting away. Everything that had mattered before had lost its interest. And Voldemort? Who cared about Voldemort? Who cared if he sabotaged the world, killed the innocent, with no one to stop him (for he did not know that Voldemort shared his same fate). He had all the time in the world, no, in the universe, to do nothing. He was beyond time, beyond worldly movement, beyond human thought. Until...  
  
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The Valley Hill Morgue was a respectable, well kept place, considering that its only inhabitants were those who were already dead (A/N: A morgue, for those who don't know, is a place the dead go before they are buried, so this is not a graveyard.). Folks near and far came to pay their respects to their deceased relatives, friends, and any other well- known people. It was Christmas time, and the doors, hallways, and visitor rooms were decorated with holly, mistletoe (though no couples kissed under it in the presence of the dead), and good old holiday cheer. The coffins, however, seemed the only things left untouched, as they were usually removed within a week or so.  
  
However, unknown to most people, there was a room toward the back of the morgue that scarcely anyone had visited in nearly seventeen years. The dust lay thick upon the red carpet and wallpaper as well as on the black coffin which lay on a table against the wall. In one corner was a pile of wilted roses, drooping carnations, and crumpled lilies. In another there stood a small table, where people who wished to attend the burial ceremony could write their names. The ceremony never took place.  
  
The coffin had long ago been locked. Apparently, the owner had worried that the corpse would begin to rot and fill the place with a repulsive odor. He would've taken a shovel himself and buried the poor lad in the cemetery across the street, but the man who had paid for the body's room had left strict instructions not to remove him until further notice, and still paid his bill with regularity.  
  
Yet now, nearly everyone-even the owner-had forgotten of the boy's existence. Everyone, that is, except a bushy-haired woman who was visiting the place for the first time in four years.  
  
Hermione Granger walked up the steep stone steps that led up the Valley Hill Morgue in her usual, brisk walk. She approached the stained- glass doors and opened them with ease, for they were always left unlocked, even at midnight, which was her usual visiting hour.  
  
Hermione shivered in the cold night air and pulled her cloak even tighter around her. She breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut behind her and shut off bitter winter winds. Silently, she crossed the room and made her way through the winding hallways until she came to a room at the very back. She opened the door with great difficulty, as the hinges were rusted over, and immediately went into a sudden fit of sneezes.  
  
She screwed her eyes up in disgust as she saw the dust and grime that had gone untended to for the past four years. With a wave of her wand, though, the dust disappeared. Turning back toward the door she pointed her wand at the hinges, which then suddenly sparkled gold through the rust. She turned toward the flowers in the room and banished them, conjuring a new bouquet in their place. This was the least she could do for the boy that had given her so much...clean the room where he lay dead.  
  
She turned at last to the coffin at the back of the room, and a tear fell to the floor. She walked over to it and tried in vain to tug it open, but noticed at long last that it was locked.  
  
"Alohamora," she whispered, and the top sprang up to reveal a boy with jet-black hair, a narrow face, and a lightning scar.  
  
The one in question was not very old at all. In fact, he appeared only to be seventeen. She marveled for a moment on how well-preserved he was, probably Dumbledore's doing. Dumbledore-why he wouldn't bury the boy puzzled her beyond belief. For the past seventeen years, he has just laid in a morgue, and a muggle morgue at that! Oh, why him, why Harry? She thought, and blinked back even more tears. Why Harry Potter? He had done so much good for the world. He had even vanquished Voldemort, but hadn't lived to see the world after the Dark Lord. This boy, who had given her so much, who had laid upon her a curse, yet a blessing. No, it was two blessings, but it mattered no more.  
  
For a long time, Hermione stood there, staring at the boy she had once called her friend. At long last, it came time for her to leave. Sighing, Hermione turned to the door. She had to get back to Hogwarts before morning, to see the students off before the Christmas holidays. She had taken one step when she stopped short. She had heard a sound, the slightest of a sound. Like an arm, twitching.  
  
Slowly, she turned back toward the boy she had once loved, only to be met by a pair of sleepy but open green eyes. She turned back toward the door. Wait, open?  
  
She spun on her heal, this time to see him sitting up in his coffin, as though he had never been dead.  
  
"Hello," he said to her politely, "May I ask who you are?"  
  
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There you go, first chapter up and running!! Please don't forget to review, I love hearing from people who read my fic. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.forget I just said that. Anyway, hope you liked it! Oh, and flames welcome.  
  
~*~Ze Czech~*~ 


	3. Long Lost Friends

The Living Dead  
  
Disclaimer: Only a few more days until I own HP! Sadly, though, it still belongs to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Chapter 2: Long Lost Friends  
  
Until...  
  
Harry's quiet stay in his black void ended quite suddenly. He began to feel himself come back into shape; and he ceased to be a shadow. Slowly, the feeling in his arms returned, then his feet. And then, words appeared in his mind, something that had not happened all his long stay in the void...What's happening?  
  
Once again, he became self aware. Slowly, lost memories returned to him. Memories of Dudley breaking his glasses, of when he was first visited by Hagrid. A sense of gravity returned to him, and he marveled at how heavy he really was, compared to being weightless. At long last, he gained control of his eyes, and opened them immediately.  
  
The room he was in was quite strange. It had red wallpaper, red carpeting, and was completely empty except for a bouquet of flowers and a guestbook. He struggled into a sitting position in order to get a better look around.  
  
There was a woman in the room with bushy brown hair. She looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn't tell since he didn't have his glasses. She had turned to walk out the door, but suddenly spun on her heal to look at Harry.  
  
"Hello," said Harry, plucking up his courage, "May I ask who you are?" The woman he spoke to stared at him in pure shock. He thought he saw her mouth drop open, but couldn't tell. Damn glasses! He thought, searching frantically for them.  
  
"Um, did you see where my glasses went?" he asked sheepishly. Still gaping at him, she reached into his front pocket and pulled out his glasses. "Thanks," said Harry, putting them on. That's when he noticed what he was wearing.  
  
It was strangely formal, especially for a hospital. He guessed that was where he was, anyway, because his last memory was of him and Voldemort staring each other down. He had spent a lot of time in the 'void', so he must have been unconscious for at least a week. But still, he wondered, since when did hospital patients go to bed with tuxedoes?  
  
In fact, looking around, he noticed that if this was a hospital, it was a very strange one indeed. Then he saw what he was lying in. A black coffin, shining, with golden metal handles. And, on the lid of the coff-the thing he was in- was an engraved metal plaque that stated clear as day:  
  
God Rest Harry Potter "The Boy Who Lived" July 31, 1980- June 20, 1998  
  
All color had drained from Harry's face. He was dreaming, he had to be. He couldn't be...no. This was just some insane joke. Fred and George- such kidders. Probably hired this woman to look shocked when he "came back to life". Yes, that was it.  
  
"How-how..." stuttered the woman, stepping forward to get a closer look at him. He could see her face clearly now. She seemed so strangely familiar...  
  
"H-Hermione?" he asked, afraid of the answer. She looked so-well-old. Actually, she reminded him of Professor Lupin, with bags under his eyes. No, he must have made a mistake, this couldn't be her. The light was playing tricks on him.  
  
"Sorry," he mumbled, "Thought you were someone else." She gave no response except to stare at him more intently. She moved still closer, until their faces were barely an inch away. There were tears in the woman's eyes.  
  
"Harry?" her voice cracked. "Oh, Harry, I've missed you so much!" And with that, she proceeded to pull him into the most bone-crushing hug Harry had ever experienced. Her arms were trembling slightly, and he could tell that she was sobbing with joy, but over what he couldn't fathom.  
  
"Um, miss, are you alright?" Harry asked skeptically. The woman's sobs just increased, and she pulled away far enough so that Harry could see her face clearly.  
  
"H-Harry, don't you remember me?" The woman looked at him pleadingly, but Harry shook his head.  
  
"I don't remember meeting you," he said hesitantly. She gave a slight smile at this.  
  
"Oh, we met, long ago, on a train. In search of a toad, of all things," she said smiling, but it disappeared when she saw the blank look on Harry's face.  
  
"You just said it, Harry. It's me, Hermione." (A/N: You know, it's awful nice of me not to leave you guys hanging here. Especially since it's 11 pm!!!)  
  
"Hermione?" Harry breathed, "What happened? You look older..." Harry stopped short when he saw a silver badge on Hermione's robes that read: Professor Granger - Charms.  
  
"Professor? But, Herm, you're only seventeen, right?" Harry was afraid of the answer. He couldn't have been out for that long, could he have?  
  
"Oh, Harry, I wish I was still that young. Things have changed. Lots of things," she added. Harry looked at her blankly. Hermione closed her eyes.  
  
"You've been dead for seventeen years."  
  
Thoughts and questions raced through Harry's head. Seventeen years? Seventeen? Dead? He couldn't have been dead; there was no way to bring them back to life. And if he was dead, why was he so well preserved? Well, that explains the coffin. He thought grimly. Harry put his head in his hands. Why did everything have to happen to him? All because he was Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived.  
  
"Harry, is it really you?" pressed Hermione. Harry nodded.  
  
"Where are we?" he asked.  
  
"The Valley Hill Morgue. You've been in this room since you...well, you couldn't have died, could you? I mean, you wouldn't be alive right now..."  
  
"I guess," Harry replied; he wasn't really listening to Hermione anymore. He was trying to figure things out for himself. Dead, 17 years, coffin, morgue, he shook his head in frustration. Best to leave it until he was alone or something; he might burst out crying or feel the urge to hit something. Suddenly, Hermione grabbed his hand.  
  
"Come on, Harry! We'll be late! I was supposed to be back before one; but he may give us some leeway if he finds out...oh, this is so wonderful! He must have known, otherwise..."  
  
"Hermione, where are we going?" Harry asked over her excited ranting.  
  
"To the safest place there is," she replied, "Hogwarts."  
  
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There you go! Chappy 2 up and running. Please review; I've only had one so far, and I might not continue if I don't get any. (Wink wink) Oh, and to all of us Americans.Happy 4th!!!  
  
Phire Phoenix: Thanks for the review! I read one of your fics.I think it was called "A Link between Worlds". Really good! I hope you continue! Oh, and I don't care if you advertise on mine, cuz I do that sometimes too.  
  
~*~Ze Czech~*~ 


	4. Back to Hogwarts

The Living Dead  
  
Disclaimer: Dangnabit! I still don't own HP!!! Curses!!!  
  
Chapter 3: Back to Hogwarts  
  
Harry had to step quickly over dead branches and wayward boulders in order to keep up with Hermione, who had gotten a considerably quicker pace since his seventh year. He and Hermione had apparated to the Forbidden Forest, in order to get as close as possible to Hogwarts. Harry noticed that, unfortunately, the forest had acquired a few more ferocious, slimy animals in the past seventeen years.  
  
"Come on, Harry, we're almost there!" said Hermione unnecessarily. Harry quickened his pace, and in no time, they had reached the clearing behind Hagrid's hut. Though the cabin looked warm and inviting, with its chimney smoking against the cold winter air, they had no time to stop and share a nice rock cake with Hagrid (though probably not one of the cakes would be touched). Harry was forced to trudge through the three-foot-deep snow behind an older version of the Hermione he once knew.  
  
At long last, they reached the great oak doors that led into the entrance hall. Both the travelers heaved a sigh of relief as they were shut off from the bitterly frozen winds, but Hermione would not allow a moments rest. Onward they pressed past paintings, suits of Armour, Peeves (to Harry's great distaste, as Peeves had stolen his wand, and it took all of ten minutes to steal it back), and strange doors that Harry was sure hadn't been there when he attended Hogwarts. Once, Harry was almost certain he heard muffled gasp followed by a sharp "shhhhh!" but dismissed them as the wind.  
  
Finally, they arrived, huffing and puffing, at the stone gargoyle that was the entrance to Professor Dumbledore's office.  
  
"Sherbet Lemon," announced Hermione, and the gargoyle leaped aside to reveal a spiraling stone staircase. Harry followed Hermione up those familiar stone steps and into Dumbledore's extravagant office.  
  
"Albus?" Hermione called. Nobody answered. Harry glanced around the room; unsurprised by the fact that nothing had changed over the course of- if what Hermione said was correct-17 years.  
  
"I wonder where Dumbledore's gotten off to," Hermione wondered out loud. Harry shrugged in reply.  
  
"I'll just leave him a note. We'll come back tomorrow to talk to him," she said, voicing her thoughts again. With a wave of her wand, one of the quills on the professor's desk began scribbling a hurried note in midair. Harry had barely a moment to appear astonished at this before Hermione was beckoning to him to follow her. She was starting to remind him of Mcgonagall.  
  
"Come on, Harry, I need to start up my patrol again."  
  
"Patrol?" he asked, puzzled. Hermione sighed.  
  
"Yes, Harry, for student's out of curfew. Come on!" she urged.  
  
For the following hours, Harry walked with Hermione, discussing the crazy things they had done in their school days. Harry had no intention of going to bed, even if he had somewhere to sleep; he wasn't in the least bit tired. He supposed that being 'dead' for 17 years could do that to people. As the minutes passed, dawn slowly crept over the horizon. Hermione yawned; Harry might be wide-awake, but she hadn't slept since yesterday, and she felt dead on her feet.  
  
"Harry, I think I'm going to go take a nap for an hour, before I have to see the students off at the train," she said sleepily.  
  
"Erm, ok, I guess I'll just keep walking," he replied. He had nothing else to do. Hermione just nodded, and made her way to her office.  
  
Harry wondered around aimlessly for a while, at a loss of what to do. A few first years passed him on the way to the Great Hall. Harry wondered briefly if he dared go into the Great Hall to have breakfast. After hearing his stomach grumble, he decided he did. Before he entered the hall, however, he glanced up at the Head Table to see if there were any teachers. Luckily, there was only one, somebody he had never seen before.  
  
The professor at the table was very strange. For starters, his face was hooded, giving him the resemblance to a dementor. Harry shuddered at the thought. The other thing that startled him was the way the professor stared at him as he walked past toward the Gryffindor table, dropping his silverware in the process. Harry turned away quickly, staring at the floor, and quickened his pace, hoping against hope that he didn't recognize him.  
  
Fortunately, Harry reached the Gryffindor table without further difficulties, and had just served himself a plate of bacon when a disgruntled girl made her way over to him angrily.  
  
"Alex Granger!" she screeched, "You are sooooooo dead!"  
  
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Hey loyal readers! Sorry it took so long to update! I think this chapter sounds a little choppy, but I'm too lazy to rewrite it, lol. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!! I really appreciate it. Please review and tell me what you think. (  
  
~*~Ze Czech~*~ 


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